


i guess it must've been my fault, i must've missed the warning

by unforgvnsam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Dean Is A Piece Of Shit Sometimes Who Hurts Sam And Castiel And That's The Tea, Episode: s13e18 Bring 'em Back Alive, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Castiel, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Scared Sam Winchester, Winchester Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 23:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14365941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unforgvnsam/pseuds/unforgvnsam
Summary: Sam stares at the things Dean tossed across the floor next to one of the research tables for a few seconds and swallows, trying not to feel even more upset. He needs alcohol. He really does. He shakes his head without giving the stuff another look and moves to the farthest side of the of the other table, as far away from that part of the library.AKA: Sam’s feeling like shit after Deanis a piece of shityells at them and Castiel finds him drinking in the library.





	i guess it must've been my fault, i must've missed the warning

Sam flinches hard when Dean yells and flings some stuff off the table, but he tries to play it off as just looking away, even though the adrenaline and tension his panic caused are still fading from his shoulders and his fingertips. **  
**

They all stand there awkwardly for a few minutes, Dean faced away from them, still shaking slightly in anger, Castiel looking to the side in discomfort and shame, and Sam attempting to breathe, attempting to focus, attempting to act unafraid. Castiel meets his gaze hesitantly and Sam tries to look neutral, but he’s not sure it works.

Dean spins around suddenly and Sam flinches again and has to take a couple quiet, deep breaths. “Come on, Sam. We have to start researching again.”

Sam moves to sit down at one of the tables, but Castiel gently presses his hand against Sam’s chest protectively and levels a stern look at Dean. “There’s nothing you can do right now, Dean. And you both need rest anyway.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Dean snaps, and Sam would’ve tripped backwards if he didn’t feel so tired and broken and unable to move. “Of course we can do something. We can… we can—”

“ _Dean_. Go to your room.”

They both glare at each other for a solid minute, and Sam knows that Dean is debating whether arguing with Castiel right now is a good idea or not. He apparently decides he doesn’t want to get into it with the angel and turns around, leaving the library without saying anything else.

Sam and Cas keep staring at the doorway, probably both still in shock, before Castiel refocuses and lets his hand drop away from Sam. “Are you alright, Sam?”

Sam takes another second to look from the exit to Castiel’s face but when he does he nods kind of absentmindedly. “Yeah. T-totally! Why wouldn’t I be?” Fuck, he faked too hard. His voice sounds too happy and chill. His gaze drops down to the lamp on the table next to them. “Sorry… Uhh, tired but I’ll be okay.” It’s not directly a lie, even though it’ll be  _awhile_  until he’s okay again. A long while if he’s being honest with himself. And really? Why be honest with himself? “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas gives him a small, exhausted smile. “Get some rest, Sam. Call me if you need anything.”

Sam nods but he probably won’t actually call Castiel because he doesn’t need to be bothered with Sam’s bullshit mental health problems anyway. Especially not now.

* * *

Sam tries to fall asleep, but the headache that keeps coming back lately is worse than usual and he feels too warm and he’s blaming himself for losing Mary and Jack again and distraction sounds nice. Feeling  _useful_  sounds nice.

He half trips out of the bed and away from the tangled, too hot sheets, rubbing at his eyes as he walks down the hallways to the library. He pauses at the corner table with the alcohol, and almost keeps walking but then the memory of Dean yelling at him comes back and he grabs a bottle of whiskey and a glass.

Sam stares at the things Dean tossed across the floor next to one of the research tables for a few seconds and swallows, trying not to feel even more upset. He needs alcohol. He really does. He shakes his head without giving the stuff another look and moves to the farthest side of the of the other table, as far away from that part of the library.

There are still a few volumes scattered here too and he opens one, almost robotically and pours half a glass of whiskey, screwing the lid shut and shoving it to the side slightly.

His eyes are reading the words but his brain isn’t comprehending them so at the point he’s probably read the same page at least four times and he’s knocked back the drink.

He finally makes it through the damned page and flips to the next one and he’s pouring himself another cup, a little fuller than last time. He still closes the bottle but he doesn’t push it away as far.

Sam isn’t even sure if he wants to get drunk, but calming his head down sounds nice. Forgetting the sound of Dean yelling at him sounds even nicer. Maybe he’ll even stop blaming himself.

The next time he pours some he drops the lid and doesn’t even bother with picking it up, just leaves the bottle open and even drinks right out of it a couple times even though he always hates it when Dean does that.

He’s read through nine pages, but he doesn’t really remember any of it and there’s not much whiskey left at the bottom of the bottle. His brain feels fuzzy and it’s probably partially to blame for his inability to retain words. It’s been a while since he’s drunk more than beer and he’s getting drunk a lot quicker on a lot less. He gets up anyway, debating drinking a little more but come on. He’s allowed to do this once in a while, right? Dean has drinking nights a lot more often anyway. He almost drains the bottle into his cup but he doesn’t feel like cleaning up any accidentally spilled liquid.

He walks to the one of the shelves, glass in one hand and the other sliding along the table edge before tracing over the backs of the books. He honestly barely cares enough to even  _try_  to focus on the titles but he’s vaguely paying attention to the letters, even though he’s not seeing anything that seems necessarily helpful. He glances over his shoulder and remembers all the books and papers Dean flung to the floor during his rant.

Maybe it should be cleaned up.

It probably should.

He can hear his knees crack as he crouches down, placing the glass to the side. He doesn’t get farther than stacking two books and a few loose papers before dropping to the floor completely, leaning against one of the columns. He tells himself that he’ll get back up in a minute, but he tells himself a lot of things. Things like having at least a small chance of getting his mom and Jack back from the other universe.

Telling himself things doesn’t always work out so well.

He lets his head fall back against the concrete column as he pulls his knees up to his chest and winces because he thought it was a little closer and he hit it harder than he expected. He stares at the high ceiling for a  _while_  and he’s not sure when his eyes closed but they must have because the next thing he knows, Castiel is kneeling next to him and gently touching his shoulder.

Sam’s surprised he didn’t cringe away, but maybe he could tell it was Cas. Or maybe he drank too much to give a shit.

“Sam, are you alright?”

“What?” Sam squints at him, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Are you  _alright_ , Sam?”

Sam winces as he shifts, his butt hurting after sitting like that for who knows how long. Why the hell is Cas even asking. Sam is sitting on the floor with a half empty glass and an even more empty bottle of alcohol on the table. He’s really obviously not.

“Eh, I’m okay, Cas. Just tired. Thanks.”

“And that’s why you’re falling asleep on the ground.” Castiel looks at him, deadpan but, considering the fact that he’s even here and asking how Sam’s doing, probably worried.

“You’re the one who  _asked_ , man.” Sam’s trying to keep his words from slurring but he’s not sure how well that’s going.

“And  _you’re_  the one who lied.”

Sam opens his mouth to say something but stops because he has a point and Sam isn’t sure what he was going to say anyway. “Fine.”

They both just stay there for a few seconds silently, Sam still on the floor and Cas still kneeling next to him. Sam waves his hand towards himself before grabbing Castiel’s wrist and tugging him down next to him. “C’mon. It feels awkward having you like… kneeling next to me and also being a little taller than me, dude.”

Now they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, both on the floor, both just as mentally exhausted, both just as upset because of Dean.

“ _You_  alright, Cas?” Sam mumbles, rubbing his fingers over the worn material of his own sweatpants. G-d, now  _he’s_  asking the dumbass question.

“Not exactly.”

“Mmhm.”

“You know… Jack… I was supposed to take care of him.”

“Yeah.”

“And now he’s in an alternate apocalyptic universe.”

Sam lets out a long sigh. “I was taking care of him too, you know. So you really can’t blame yourself.”

“You’re blaming  _yourself_.”

Sam laughs but it’s forced and vaguely broken, same as the lighthearted way his voice was meant to sound when he says, “Pffftt, I blame myself for  _everything_ , Cas.” He leans over Castiel to pick up his glass and sloshes the liquid around a little. “You want? There’s also some left on the table up there.”

Castiel shakes his head. “We don’t need Dean yelling at us for something else, do we?” His tone is pissed and sarcastic though and somewhere in him, Sam can relate, but he still feels guilty.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have given Gabriel his grace back.” Sam accidentally whispers and if Castiel wasn’t literally pressed against him, he probably wouldn’t have heard. “Maybe Mom and Jack would be back here within a few hours if I hadn’t. May—”

“If we hadn’t given Gabriel his grace back we’d both be  _dead_  again right now.”

“Yeah, bu—”

“ _Sam_. Please. It’s not your fault.” Castiel moves so that he’s looking at Sam and takes the glass of alcohol from Sam’s trembling hand. “You’re not thinking straight right now.”

Sam snorts and he can’t resist making a joke, even though he’s feeling this shitty. “I  _never_  think straight, Cas.”

Castiel pauses with his mouth open because he was in the middle of  _talking_  and sighs dramatically, even though Sam knows for a  _fact_  that Cas has made the same joke before. “I’m  _sorry_ , Sam. You’re not thinking  _clearly_.”

His slightly raised mood suddenly drops again and he shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. I just… I don’t know.”

Castiel brushes Sam’s hair out of his face and smiles softly, but sadly. “Me too.” He stands up and holds out his hand to Sam. “Come on. It’s four in the morning and you need sleep.  _Not_  more alcohol.” Sam lets out a deep, wavering breath but grabs Castiel’s outstretched hand.

“Wait, what about this…?” Sam gestures at the things strewn across the floor.

Cas shrugs. “ _Dean_  made the mess and I’ll make  _him_  clean it up in the morning.”

Sam almost cracks a smile at that and nods.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all should just know that Judah ([sahwen](http://sahwen.tumblr.com)) suggested writing this, Nate ([gaywitchtwins](http://gaywitchtwins.tumblr.com)) betaed it, and Eru ([eruthiawenluin](http://eruthiawenluin.tumblr.com)) inspired the "not straight" joke and i love all of them a lot
> 
> also please validate me, people ;-;
> 
> obligatory "you can find me on Tumblr at [unforgvnsam](http://unforgvnsam.tumblr.com)"


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